Tropical State of Mind
Three things you need to know about me and my mom:
1. We are extremely organized and like to prepare things well ahead of time, so we know exactly what to do, when.
2. We both feel a little "eh" about heights. (Okie, fine. I feel a lot "eh" about heights.)
3. We both like to experience new things because the memories we make far outweigh the fear we face.
On the morning of our third day at sea, the ship docked at our first port in Roatán, Honduras. After having been sea-bound for the past 48 hours, we were perfectly ready to be landlubbers again, and made sure we were one of the first off the ship to explore around Roatán. It is a small but beautiful city, but makes its business more in excursions than shopping, which we admittedly did a lot of both.
My parents and I had planned excursions for all three ports, but the stop in Roatán was going to put all three things that I mentioned at the beginning of this to the test--that's because we were going on the "Extreme Caribe Ziplining" tour in the middle of the jungle . . .
Now, I have been ziplining several times before, but each time was in the United States and was usually apart of a camp or some place where the stakes were a lot less involved. However, like I said, we were more interested in making memories that outweighed the fear we faced. By 9 o'clock that morning, the temperature was already well into the high 80s, and I am sure you can imagine what the humidity was like . . . We were already off the boat by 8 a.m., so there was a bit of waiting time between then and our 10:45 meeting time for the excursion. Let's just say we were all soaking wet before we ever made it to the jungle. Ha!
When it was time to leave, they rounded us up and took us to our bus (which was a 15 person passenger van) and made it's way through the downtown area of the city, which consisted of a paved road, but drivers were still very much operating out of their own rules. I will admit to having grabbed the seat in front of me a couple times, which should have prepared me for when we suddenly stopped in the middle of the road and turned onto a dirt hill that was going nearly the opposite direction we had come from. I have had several friends describe to me what it is like to ride in the mountains in Guatemala (a stone's throw from Honduras)--large buses making hairpin turns on the edge of a cliff not really knowing what you would meet speeding around the corner of a mountain. If this was as close as I'll ever get to that, I will be just fine.
I think the majority of the passengers could say the same as a few were practically clamoring to get off the bus, once we arrived. And this certainly wasn't your mama's ziplining either, as they fitted us with harnesses, construction helmets, and a set of strong gardening gloves with a fitted leather bit that they informed us was for "breaking." Um, excuse me, but why would we need to be in charge of our own breaking and what exactly would we need to be breaking from running into?!?! So they put us on another (smaller) van and took us even further up the mountain to find out. If you recall what I mentioned in #1 and #2 at the beginning, I was starting to wonder if I was going to pass out once I realized how high up we were, and my mother couldn't stop repeating how stupid we all were to have signed up for this. Yup, now I was the one having to console and was trying to figure out how we were all going to make it down this mountain over the course of 12 ziplines. We had two guides: one who went ahead to the next one, waiting to catch us (remember what I said about breaking?) and one sending us to our doom at the top. The guide who went ahead spoke English fairly well, but the guide who sent us on . . . not so much. So we begin and there people go, flying down, one-by-one. My father, my mother, and I are the last in the group to go, and I had already decided I would let my mother go first, so I could help her and be last. My father wasted no time in going ahead of us as he rarely has any fear in these matters. He flies on ahead and my mother steps up to the plate. The guide explains in broken English that she is to put her right hand on the wire (the gloved one with that bit of leather I was telling you about) behind the pulley, put her left hand on the rope attaching her harness, cross her legs and lean back as far as she could. He's just about to push her off, when she shouts that she needs to practice first . . . Yes, that's correct--practice.
Our poor guide could not figure out what she was doing at all and his eyes were as big as saucers because I think he was quite convinced that we were all going to make him earn his money that day. He was not wrong.
But she went. And I went. And we all survived and had an absolute blast. As for the breaking, you really did have to stop yourself about 90% of the time. Our guide at the bottom was supposed to tell you when to do that, but had gotten a little lax in his commands, so some of us started to do our own thing. This came in handy for one particular line that was very steep and nearly everyone hit the tree below, coming in too fast (there were literally pillows duck-taped to the tree), so when I slid in with ease, I didn't realize everyone would be standing there (chained to the tree for protection) as they let out a unanimous "Ooooohhh" in admiration that I did not, in fact, hit said tree . . . Thank the Lord for upper body workouts!
1. We are extremely organized and like to prepare things well ahead of time, so we know exactly what to do, when.
2. We both feel a little "eh" about heights. (Okie, fine. I feel a lot "eh" about heights.)
3. We both like to experience new things because the memories we make far outweigh the fear we face.
On the morning of our third day at sea, the ship docked at our first port in Roatán, Honduras. After having been sea-bound for the past 48 hours, we were perfectly ready to be landlubbers again, and made sure we were one of the first off the ship to explore around Roatán. It is a small but beautiful city, but makes its business more in excursions than shopping, which we admittedly did a lot of both.
Now, I have been ziplining several times before, but each time was in the United States and was usually apart of a camp or some place where the stakes were a lot less involved. However, like I said, we were more interested in making memories that outweighed the fear we faced. By 9 o'clock that morning, the temperature was already well into the high 80s, and I am sure you can imagine what the humidity was like . . . We were already off the boat by 8 a.m., so there was a bit of waiting time between then and our 10:45 meeting time for the excursion. Let's just say we were all soaking wet before we ever made it to the jungle. Ha!
When it was time to leave, they rounded us up and took us to our bus (which was a 15 person passenger van) and made it's way through the downtown area of the city, which consisted of a paved road, but drivers were still very much operating out of their own rules. I will admit to having grabbed the seat in front of me a couple times, which should have prepared me for when we suddenly stopped in the middle of the road and turned onto a dirt hill that was going nearly the opposite direction we had come from. I have had several friends describe to me what it is like to ride in the mountains in Guatemala (a stone's throw from Honduras)--large buses making hairpin turns on the edge of a cliff not really knowing what you would meet speeding around the corner of a mountain. If this was as close as I'll ever get to that, I will be just fine.
I think the majority of the passengers could say the same as a few were practically clamoring to get off the bus, once we arrived. And this certainly wasn't your mama's ziplining either, as they fitted us with harnesses, construction helmets, and a set of strong gardening gloves with a fitted leather bit that they informed us was for "breaking." Um, excuse me, but why would we need to be in charge of our own breaking and what exactly would we need to be breaking from running into?!?! So they put us on another (smaller) van and took us even further up the mountain to find out. If you recall what I mentioned in #1 and #2 at the beginning, I was starting to wonder if I was going to pass out once I realized how high up we were, and my mother couldn't stop repeating how stupid we all were to have signed up for this. Yup, now I was the one having to console and was trying to figure out how we were all going to make it down this mountain over the course of 12 ziplines. We had two guides: one who went ahead to the next one, waiting to catch us (remember what I said about breaking?) and one sending us to our doom at the top. The guide who went ahead spoke English fairly well, but the guide who sent us on . . . not so much. So we begin and there people go, flying down, one-by-one. My father, my mother, and I are the last in the group to go, and I had already decided I would let my mother go first, so I could help her and be last. My father wasted no time in going ahead of us as he rarely has any fear in these matters. He flies on ahead and my mother steps up to the plate. The guide explains in broken English that she is to put her right hand on the wire (the gloved one with that bit of leather I was telling you about) behind the pulley, put her left hand on the rope attaching her harness, cross her legs and lean back as far as she could. He's just about to push her off, when she shouts that she needs to practice first . . . Yes, that's correct--practice.
Our poor guide could not figure out what she was doing at all and his eyes were as big as saucers because I think he was quite convinced that we were all going to make him earn his money that day. He was not wrong.
But she went. And I went. And we all survived and had an absolute blast. As for the breaking, you really did have to stop yourself about 90% of the time. Our guide at the bottom was supposed to tell you when to do that, but had gotten a little lax in his commands, so some of us started to do our own thing. This came in handy for one particular line that was very steep and nearly everyone hit the tree below, coming in too fast (there were literally pillows duck-taped to the tree), so when I slid in with ease, I didn't realize everyone would be standing there (chained to the tree for protection) as they let out a unanimous "Ooooohhh" in admiration that I did not, in fact, hit said tree . . . Thank the Lord for upper body workouts!
Dad with no fear!
Mom finally finished "practicing"!
I was ready to go!
All of that beautiful scenery you see behind us was like that all the way down, with our longest line extending a little over 2,200 feet! Talk about putting you in a tropical state of mind. :)
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